I came of age in the years after what historian C. Vann Woodward called the Second Reconstruction. I would enjoy its fruits, and there would not be the Nadir that followed the first Reconstruction, but there was a mitigated darkness. I slid in and out of the colored-negro-black world in which I was raised, travelling between the Ivy League and my homeplace, but it was being overtaken by something that was not us.

In his second inaugural address, President Barack Obama evoked the American history of the civil rights struggle as a sojourn made in increments and bold strokes, and that sojourn is the history of my family and so many others whose American story began in this land as indentured servants and as human chattel. In the lifetime of futures, they knew this day, too, would come

My student searched my face as if my own blackness held what was lost to him. It would take a lifetime of stories, and even this would not be enough, but still it is those fragments of memory that hold us one to another—and these are mine, and I give them, for us.